A Shadow and a Threat
by Camden88
Summary: Sauron is gaining in power, his servants spreading deceit to all corners of Middle Earth. Aragorn and the Dúnedain discover a growing shadow close to home, a threat that they cannot conquer. When a single elleth takes it upon herself to aid them as the shadow seeks to tear their world apart, things are set in motion that cannot be undone, and all are faced with loss at every turn.
1. Once Upon a December

_Chapter 1: Once Upon a December_

A storm was coming. For days it had lingered on the horizon, the largest of the many winter storms that had plagued the Rangers of the North for months. They had hoped for a time that this one might yet avoid them, hoped it would simply dwindle away and spare them the misery of hiking through many feet of snow. But a numbing, north wind had sprung up and sent the storm billowing towards the tiny settlement.

Now, as night swallowed this home of the Rangers, all was still and tension thickened the air until it fairly snapped. Without warning a rolling _Crack!_ of thunder shattered the quiet. A moment later, the sound still ringing through the trees, a strangled gasp also broke the stillness.

The elf bolted upright on her pallet, her breath coming in rasping bursts as she struggled not to cry out and wake those who had so generously opened their home. A sudden gust of wind shook the rafters. The elf started, hissing quietly as she wearily leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Everything was a nightmare. Everything reminded her of him.

Blood, death, and aching memories danced through her head, whether waking or sleeping, and there was no relief. There would never be relief, the elf knew, until this was over and peace had come. Until she could put her guilt to rest. Her eyes sprang open suddenly and she rose, pulling on soft shoes before slipping out the door.

But outside was little better. The storm had crashed upon them in a fury, lightening lit the sky and hail rattled on the rooftops. Tall torches sputtered bravely in the gale. To the elf, as she stumbled from the clearing into the trees, it all echoed the chaos in her heart. Even the once-comforting forest seemed to scream, _Guilty! Guilty!_ If only he had not been there.

The elf sank to her knees in the wet grass, pelted by ice and numbing winds. She turned her face to the sky with a heavy heart when the truth, as always, whispered in her ear. _If not for you . . ._

In that moment, temptation rose within her to blame the Rangers, to blame the entire race of men for the shattering of her world but no, this storm inside was only her doing.

And so she stayed, unwilling to return to her bed of nightmares. _How could it have come to this?_ she wondered. Only a month ago, all had been well. Only a month ago, she had been a captain of her people. Only a month ago, she had not borne such scars. Only a month ago they had not been at war.

~~ :. :. :. :. ~~

 _One Month Ago: T.A. December 2953_

"Tam, Tam!" A clear voice rang across the clearing, belonging to a rather shaggy-looking elf with his dark hair cut short who stood just inside a blue and white tent. When his calls failed to have the desired effect, he sighed good-naturedly and strode out to meet the green-clad figure.

Having just returned from another patrol, the score of elves that stood in the winter sun, grooming mounts and releasing them into the field, were battle-weary and sore. Still, though they would never admit it, they all enjoyed the pleasant bustle that greeted them upon the return. Content and satisfied with their work over the past weeks, each elf would stand a little straighter as they limped back to their homes and families.

Once the last had ducked into his tent, the captain turned away. Immediately she was met with the brilliant blue eyes and cheerful face of her brother. "Come now, Tam," he admonished, "your ears are quite keen – you have not yet grown old and dull – I know you heard me shout. Is it that you are now too esteemed to even consider your poor, destitute kindred? Or perhaps you _are_ becoming dull." With that the elf pulled such a face that he had the nearby youngsters laughing aloud.

Tamuril stared at him for a long moment. His eternal grin was beginning to falter uncertainly when she at last favored him with a smile and a laugh. "Oh, Luke. Perhaps I don't miss you as much as I thought I did. I think I shall be going out with the next patrol as well . . ."

"Ah, but by your own orders, none are allowed to take three patrols in a row – unless there is an emergency, of course. I suppose you are now stuck with me. A captain cannot break her own orders, now can she?"

"Hmm. This captain holds that this is indeed a grave emergency. Perhaps I should leave at once." Tamuril began to rise and walk past, but Luke caught her arm. Again she turned to face him, and not a moment later they were laughing and embracing each other. Together they strode slowly towards the blue and white tent of the healers. The two could clearly be seen as siblings - both had dark, nearly black hair and bright blue eyes that seemed to glow at times. They bantered easily as they walked.

"I should hardly call your coat a healer's robe. When will you ever stop wearing it? It is ancient!"

"It hardly matters what a healer wears, so long as he can heal. This happens to be my robe of honor, dear sister, bestowed upon me for my skill and my charm – at the very least it keeps me warm. How were the patrols? You have been gone long and must have a great many stories."

"I'm afraid my stories are dark and grim. Orcs and all evil things are growing stronger. We attack when we can and often attempt to aid the Rangers, but there seems little we can do. If things grow worse we may have to break camp and move on. Although, I should hate to leave evil to it's will."

As they ducked through the entrance, a sudden flurry of activity alerted them to a dire situation. Through the chaos, the two caught a glimpse of a red-haired elf lying on a thin bed, blood staining the sheets and many of the healers' hands. Alarmed, Tamuril pulled a young maiden aside.

"Who here is injured? It was my belief that no one suffered any serious harm. What happened?" she asked, intense blue eyes looking frantically for an explanation.

A tad frightened, the young one answered promptly, "I-I'm sorry, Captain. It's Forlong. He only had a shallow wound, but the sword that cut him was covered in rust. It-it's inside him now. We don't have the right medicine to cure him. We-we've run out."

Seeing how her voice quavered, Tamuril forced herself to relax and gave the maiden a small smile, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands. "Calm now, Nonna. Calm. You have done wonderfully. What medicine do you need?"

~~ :. :. :. :. ~~

"Tamuril! Listen to me, Tam! You cannot go! Can your eyes not see the rain coming? You have only just returned and are weary. I will go!" Luke followed at his sister's heels as she swiftly saddled a horse for her journey. "I am older, Tam, are you listening? I am a healer! It is better that I go –"

"Luke!" Tamuril rounded on him suddenly. "You _are_ a healer – that is why I need you to stay. You must keep Forlong alive until I return! Seregon does not grow here, but Caffery has always had a supply. I need to go now or he will surely die. Please," her eyes searched his as she held him at arms length. His gaze burned into he, and she sighed, turning quickly away.

Luke held his ground unflinchingly. "Caffery is a village of men, Tam. Strange things have been entering that town of late, and they have not left. You are not rested. There are other healers, let me go with you at the least."

Hugging him to her, Tamuril shook her head and pulled away. "One rider is quicker. The men of Caffery have grown untrusting and guarded, they have refused to let any of us enter unless there is one and only one. Do not worry, Luke! I have made this journey many times." She favored him with a smile she did not feel as she secured the last of her bags.

The elf swung effortlessly into her saddle and clasped her brother's hand in farewell. With a click of her tongue, she was off, her mount's hooves making little sound on the brittle grass. Luke stared mournfully after her, brilliant blue eyes unusually dimmed. "But all it takes is one journey to change everything," he whispered.

Anxious and determined, Tamuril pushed her horse hard. Night in the wilds of the North woodlands were unkind – even more so in the thick of winter. Numbing wind whipped around her, and she donned a hood to shield her face.

A storm rose inside of her – Forlong had been her first friend when she had come to the Camp, and was affectionately know as 'Fox' for his quick mind and red hair. She shook her head with a grimace as guilt flooded her. Focusing intently on the drumming of hoofbeats, she tried but failed to lay aside the fact that, as their captain, she had been tasked with ensuring their wellbeing. Even as she had dressed the wound not three weeks past, she had not seen any sign of danger or infection, yet now both were upon him in force. Sitting up straight, she flung her arms out and shouted aloud to the trees, free to expel some of her anger and sorrow out here in the loneliness of the wild.

Caffery was the only hope for her friend, the elf knew. And that was not entirely comforting. This village of men had once been a jewel – the only settlement like it in the wild North. But of late other men had come. Easterlings, servants of a great evil, had started to trickle in, and how were welcomed with open arms. While initially met with suspicion, they had proved to be handy in nearly any trade, and now the men of Caffery trusted these wicked folk more than any Ranger. Since the beginning of that time, Caffery had slowly closed to the outside. Travelers were not welcome and the town had become a dark place.

The captain turned her face to the sky with a heavy heart as the first, freezing drops of rain fell from the clouds. She wound her way through the naked trees, traveling alongside a dried-out riverbed for a time, then the trees thinned out to reveal what her people call the Valley of Emerald. Here there was not a single blade of grass, only clovers. They coated the valley in a soft, glimmering coat of green no matter the season. Any other time, Tamuril would have come to a halt and soaked in the serenity of this glorious place, but need drove her on, and she did not stop until the gates of Caffery loomed on the horizon.

~~ :. :. :. :. ~~

The sound of the horse's hooves rang out as the path became a neat, cobblestone walkway. Still the rain poured from the sky, having thoroughly soaked everything not indoors. Night had fallen and Tamuril was bitterly cold. With some relief she halted before the iron gates and called up to the watchman on the wall. A crash sounded as the man jolted awake, and, rather belligerently, he shouted back down,

"We don't allow travelers in after dark. Find a hole to bury y'self in for the night - mayhap we'll consider letting you in tomorrow. G'night now." With that he nearly managed to sink sleepily out of sight behind the wall again, but another call stopped him.

"Come now, friend," said the elf, scarcely able to reign in her anger. "I've ridden all day to reach your town, and I had always heard how hospitable it was. Is that not so any longer? I am Tamuril Eleniell – a good friend of Kantor's. Will you not speak to him?"

Her words seem to stop him on his tracks. The man squinted and thought hard for a moment. "Kantor's pal . . . I can't see as that's likely. Well he's sleeping now and it won't do to wake him. If you'll stay right there till morning we can wake him and see if your tale is true. But not until them!" he said firmly.

"I know Kantor!" she growled, "I do not think he should take kindly to any traveler he knows being left out in the cold – on your watch, sir. We shall talk with him in the morn, but until then, it can only help you to allow me to stay one night."

The guard, likely weary from arguing and ready to return to his slumber, did not bother an answer. A moment later, with much grinding and clanking, the gate lifted and Tamuril rode quickly inside, fighting an uneasy feeling as it slammed closed behind her. Exhaustion was heavy on her limbs as she staggered to the nearest inn. There she slept deeply, knowing well the journey back would have to be just as taxing.

As morning dawned, and with it, the sun, Caffery was lit up with a healthy glow. The streets, wet from the recent downpour, fairly sparkled in the weak winter beams. Torches flared invitingly and every few blocks a massive bonfire warmed the hearts and hands of the people. But what struck the elf as odd was that on such a clear day, with such beauty in evidence, the streets were close to empty. Everything was cold and still. The town smelled sick.

Tamuril threaded her way through the narrow roads until at last she came upon the herb merchant's carriage. "Huon!" she called. The man looked up sharply and . . . fearfully? But his face broke into a lopsided grin when he saw her.

"Ah, Eleniell! Such a pleasure to see you here. What'll you be needin'?"

"Seregon, I need Seregon, Huon. You do have it still?"

"Why of course! This ought to do – here, take it as a gift. I don't know when I'll be seein' you next, and I may need you to remember me in a favorable way – a friend, see." As he spoke he rolled together a small bundle of the red flower. Tamuril shook her head and chuckled.

"I feel I should argue, but I have to make haste. I cannot thank you enough, Huon."

Suddenly, a small stone flew from the left and struck the elf in the arm. She snapped her head around to see eight small children running towards her, all carrying missiles of some sort. Bewildered, Tamuril could only watch as the front runner raised his arm and threw another stone, but this one missed the elf, zipping past to strike a lone, passing Ranger on the back with a thud. The Ranger walked slowly, laden down with a large bundle and leading a limping mount, yet the children continued to follow him. They were joined by more as the group moved down the street, and they pelted the man with all manner of debris.

A small laugh came from Tamuril as she watched the fully-grown man be badgered by a hoard of children. But her smile faded into a frown as she watched. Other people who had arrived on the streets, men and women alike, were also enjoying the spectacle, enjoying it immensely. Jeering started up, a mean, ugly chorus that was filled with hate.

Happy to have an audience, the young ones began to shower the Ranger with larger things – hunks of wood, bottles of wine, one boy even hurled a bent scrap of iron. It smacked the horse on the rump, and with a wild neigh the beast went bucking and leaping away. With a cry the Ranger sprang after it, but it would not be comforted and veered away into the maze of roads.

Nasty laughter rose from the watching townsfolk, and none made a move to help him. Uneasy beyond belief, Tamuril had started towards the commotion when her arm was caught by Huon.

"Calm down now, Eleniell. 'Tis only some fun. Those Rangers deserve it I dare say," said he, though the last words were no more than a whisper.

The storm was raging. "Let go," said the elf through gritted teeth. "This has gone beyond fun." She tore her sleeve from his grasp and leaped forward just as everything erupted in chaos.

Frustrated by the loss of his horse and by the humiliation he was facing, the Ranger had whirled suddenly to confront the children. A well-aimed chunk of stone caught him on the cheek, and now blood dripped from the wound. Immediately, all remaining patience vanished, and the man, scooping up the offending stone, hurled it hard into the mist of his tormentors. Stunned silence, and then a cry rang out.

With furious shouts, the townsfolk were upon him. The Ranger crouched, covering his head as he tried to apologize for his error, but there was no reason in the mob. They beat him with their hands and screamed threats. Suddenly, one man took a wooden club and smashed it down on the man's head. The Ranger crumpled to ground, stunned, as more and more men of Caffery gathered to bludgeon him to his very death.

Quickly, Tamuril pushed into the seething crowd. She braced herself as what seemed hundreds of people pushed against her. Their hatred could not be understood! This went far beyond the simple throw of a rock.

Seeing that the man was bloodied and near death, and being unable to calm the mob, Tamuril desperately threw herself over him, trying to shield him from the blows. All reason had been given to the wind, and the sight of someone protecting the hated Ranger seemed to drive the people mad! Their attacks grew harder and the elf bit her tongue to stop from crying out in pain. A sudden, merciful bash to the head made the world fade instantly to black.


	2. Hatred

_Chapter 2: Hatred_

As the elleth came slowly to awareness, the only thing that truly penetrated the fog of her mind was a sharp ache in what seemed to be every bone in her body. She slowly opened her eyes, only to find a dull, grey dimness. Panic shot through her and she sat up suddenly. Reaching up to touch her fingers to her head, she encountered a soft cloth, and became aware of the pressure around her eyes.

She eased the blindfold away with some relief and found herself looking upon a warm, surprisingly hospitable room. The wooden floor glowed a clean, pale brown, and a small fire flickered on her right. In fact, as Tamuril scanned the room carefully, the only hint that she was not free to walk through the door was the mean iron grate that guarded the sole window. Her sword and the bundle of seregon had been taken, and if she looked hard she could see a man standing to attention just outside the window

Staggering to her feet, Tamuril limped her way to the opening. "Guard!" she called out quietly. "Why am I here? Is it now your custom to keep visitors imprisoned?" The rely was a spear point being pushed between the bars, causing her to recoil.

"We have good cause for your being here, elf. Don't worry – judgement is dealt quickly here. You won't be stuck for long," the man grinned. "Kantor will be seeing you before long and he will choose your penalty." Despite the grimness of his words, Tamuril found a glimmer of hope in them. She and Kantor had know each other for years, and he was of a high standing in Caffery.

Wearily, the elf slid to floor, leaned her head back against the wall, and waited. Visions of Forlong, dying in agony, flashed through her head – yet she would not let them linger. Kantor would come, she was certain. When this entire mess was sorted out she could again be on her way. _Let it be in time_ , she prayed fiercely. Time whirled by; she could hear the voices from outside, wagon wheels clattering on the streets and the feet of countless individuals shuffling past as the shadows stretched longer and longer.

Suddenly, after what seemed like an age, a heavy bolt was slid back from the door and it swung open to admit a man clad only in a simple brown tunic and trousers. He was very tall, with long brown hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck. His face was sallow and rather pale. Cunning green eyes swept the small room casually, carefully impassive of all feeling. He carried a bowl of steaming stew and set it gingerly upon a small corner table before turning and studying his 'guest'

Tamuril had risen silently the moment he had entered. "Kantor," she said, relief welling up in her heart. The tall man chuckled and shook his head as he paced slowly towards her.

"I have never met anyone, elf, man or otherwise, who can manage to get into the situations you do, Eleniell," he laughed. "What business brings you to Caffery?"

"Someone I am close to has been injured gravely. He needs medicine – where are the herbs I carried?" The elleth had not the time for catching up on small talk, even with such an old friend as he. Once she left Caffery, she would not be back for a long while.

Kantor gave an exaggerated frown as he appeared to think hard for a moment. "Oh! You say those are yours, Eleniell?" He sighed as he looked her hard in the eyes. "We have a worse problem then we thought, then. Huon the Herb Merchant has told me that these were stolen from him – he was never paid. You would never be that desperate though, I'm sure.

Staring blankly at the man, all Tamuril could think to answer was, "Huon gave them to me – a gift, so he said. Perhaps he forgot amidst the chaos of the riot, but I would not steal from anyone - you know that!" To her relief, Kantor nodded agreeably, turning away from her.

"Good then! That is as I thought. No harm done and all is well. You are clearly innocent of wrongdoing and you are free to leave." Here, the elleth narrowed her eyes at his back and studied him intently.

"Kantor . . ." said she, "what else is amiss? You want something – tell me and I will help if I can." He spun around quickly, a crooked grin on his face, and she suddenly regretted her offer.

"Ah splendid. I've always known you would pull through for a friend. Well you see, Eleniell, Caffery has been . . . troubled of late. You know of many of these hard times, but you may not have discovered the cause, as we have." Stepping quickly forward he grasped her forearms tightly and spoke suddenly with the fire of passion and hate, eyes boring into hers.

"The Rangers. Dúnedain. They have poisoned us and are leading us to ruin!" His fevered voice began at a whisper and ended in nearly a shout. "Our allies from the East warned us, but we did not listen. Look what has become of us now! Look!" He released the elf suddenly, wearily wiping his brow with his sleeve as some of the fire seemed to diminish.

"We need you, Eleniell, to aid us in this dark hour. We need you to prove that you and your people are our allies and can be depended upon." Speaking eloquently and clearly, Kantor was the image of sincerity and long-suffering. "Tell me, what do you know about the Rangers?"

Tamuril could feel the storm twisting inside of her and she fought to keep her fury hidden. "You told me I was free to leave, Kantor, I am needed at home and must go." But the tall man sighed patiently as he quickly and deliberately pushed the thick door closed. He turned back with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"I'm sure you understand, my friend, that I cannot release someone who could be an enemy of this town. You do know, don't you, that you are thought to be dead? Ah yes, when you sided with the Ranger there was so much anger, so much hate. Were it not for me, you would be dead in truth. There is a debt to be paid here, my friend, and I ask for very little. If only you will tell me all you know about the Rangers – such as the one you so valiantly protected – you can go free with all my goodwill."

A sick feeling grew in Tamuril's stomach, a sense of unease that called for her to fight, to flee, to do _something_ , but all she did was whisper one question. "Kantor – where is the Ranger?"

Her suspicions were confirmed when this man who had for so long professed to be her ally and friend blew out a loud breath and slowly shook his head as he began to pace in a wide circle. His boots clicked loudly on the wood floor. "I've told you, Eleniell, what the Dúnedain have done to us. We are cursed! Only sorrow has come in our dealings with them, and now we have only begun to even the score." Tamuril turned with him as he walked, rage dripping from her words.

"You killed him. You _killed_ him!" she shouted. Her hands clenched tightly when she considered what the response of the Rangers would be. "Are you mad? Why, Kantor? The Dúnedain have done nothing to you, but now you have made them your enemies! You killed him, Kantor, you can't take that back! You have turned from the light and allied yourself with the servants of darkness! Now - " Her words were cut off as he rounded on her with such hatred in his eyes that in that moment she feared he should kill her. But the madness that gripped him seemed to fade as fast as it was kindled, and he only turned his back and strode for the door.

"I see that you cannot be reasoned with. Very well, my _friend_ , you have made your position clear. If you so dearly love these Rangers, be prepared to die as one of them!" With a snarl, the man stepped from the room, taking the cold dish of stew with him, and pulled the door shut so hard that it shook the room.

With a cry Tamuril sprang forward, but too late. She slammed her fists once against the wood and then leaned there, head spinning, as the realization of the true threat this growing shadow posed crashed upon her. A sharp wind from the window pierced her to the bone. Outside it was getting dark.

~~ :. :. :. :. ~~

"Look out!"As soon as the shout reached his ears, Luke instinctively dropped down, hearing the hiss of an arrow as it cleaved the air just above his head. Quickly, he sprang to his feet again in time to parry a blow from yet another thick, Orc blade.

Spinning and slashing with a frighteningly cold precision, the elf worked his way through the beasts to where the offending archer stood. Luke ran for him, sword raised, but could not reach him in time to stop him from firing again. He watched as this time, the arrow flew true, and it pierced one of his comrades just below the shoulder blade. Anger filled him and he did not hesitate to run the Orc through the middle.

As he pulled his sword free, a sudden silence fell. He turned sharply, finding all the Orcs dead or dying among the trees along with far too many of his own, while the surviving elves moved in with a hushed urgency to help the fallen. In less than an hour it would be night, and even now a heavy gloom hung over them like a dark cloud. Luke hurried to where Corann swayed unsteadily on his feet, the arrow in his back protruding awkwardly.

The elf was quick and sure. He eased Corann to the snow, gently working the arrow free – it had not gone through the other side, nor lodged on a bone. Once it was gone he pressed the herbs he had brought to the wound and bound it with a clean bandage. Sitting back on his heels, Luke heaved a long, pent up sigh, running his hands through his hair as he surveyed the destruction around him.

When the next shift of patrols had departed that morning, none had expected them to return within the hour, frantic, bringing news of a massive Orc troop scarcely 100 yards from the Camp. They numbered two score – even gathering every male and female who was able to fight, the elves could barely equal that. The battle had been fierce and bloody for both sides. No one knew exactly how the Orcs had known where the Camp was – and surely they had, for the patrol had discovered them moving with speed and great stealth.

Luke looked up wearily as Malvegil, a short, blond elf with a sharp tongue yet a good heart came to sit beside him. His face was pale and his eyes seemed sunken and shadowed.

"Tell Tam to be more careful next time," he said, his voice carrying a laughing note that sounded quite hollow. "We cannot take anymore of this."

Luke glanced sharply at him. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Tam isn't back yet – what did she do?"

"'Tis clear that she led these creatures to us," Malvegil gestured at the dead Orcs that lay littered under the trees. "How else could they have had the wits to seek us out? Though I understand her carelessness was probably due to her hurry to get home, I still say she should have acted as a leader ought to, and taken the proper precautions."

"Malvegil! We don't know that Tam led them here! All of our patrols have been harassing them for six _months_ – ever since we came here. It only makes sense that they would search for us when we've caused them such trouble.

"Perhaps, perhaps, Luke. I'm sorry – I know this is a hard thing to consider." Malvegil stared into the trees thoughtfully. "Do you know why she has not returned yet? Fox is worsening at an alarming rate.

Grunting, Luke rose to his feet, accompanied by the crunch of snow and ice, and moved to aid his fellows in carrying the dead and wounded. "She will be back soon, I should think. She may be back already, in fact."

"Or perhaps she has lingered there to enjoy the comforts of the town, while we die from this mess she has created." The words were said casually, almost teasingly, yet Luke was startled at the sudden onslaught of bitterness in his friend's voice. He paused in his strides, Corann draped limply in his arms.

"I know you have not approved of her as captain, Malvegil, but do you truly think she would do that? She would no more betray us than I would. Come on, my friend, we are all tired and heart-sore. Help me carry Corann – I do believe he has been eating more than he ought!"

While it was indeed a victory that the elves had achieved, upon their return to the Camp it certainly did not feel like one. The blue and white healer's tent was filled in a second, and before noon Luke was carting his supplies to nearly every tent in the valley. The wives and children dug five graves to bury the dead, but they were unmarked. They would be moving on eventually, and a permanent marker served little purpose in the end.

Hours later, as night fell and the weary elves settled down to sleep, Luke stayed awake. He walked slowly from the Camp. His feet turned down a familiar trail that led him upwards, to a rocky ledge that jutted from one of the many hills surrounding them. They were camped at the base of several rocky cliffs that rose high like shadows and blotted out much of the sky. There Luke stood, the winter wind whipping his coat around him with a snap. The stars, clear and brilliant, stretched around him in a vast sea of cold lights, gazing down upon the array of crimson tents below just as the lone elf did. Silvery beams from a full moon glistened off of every surface in this rolling spread of tall trees and hills.

Luke saw all of this, yet his heart was not comforted. He knew something had happened. He knew that Caffery was only a few hours ride from here, knew that either Malvegil had been right or that his sister had encountered trouble.

A distant, despairing shout sounded from the midst of the Camp, and he somehow knew instinctively that, whatever her delay, Tamuril had not returned in time. Forlong was dead. And now, after only a day and a half, confidence in her leadership was slipping – For no reason other than we do not have the same ancestors they do, he thought bitterly. His heart thudded as if lead in his chest as he stared up into the infinite span of cold stars. Please hurry home.

~~ :. :. :. :. ~~

Setting her teeth hard against the pain in her hand, Tamuril held the torch still for one last moment before dropping it quickly on the edge of the fire. Satisfaction glowed in her eyes as she examined the now-red metal of the dagger she held and then resumed sawing at the ancient iron bars that guarded the window.

She had not been searched thoroughly when she had been taken, much to her relief. A small, white dagger, hidden in a flat sheath in her sleeve had escaped detection. The armored guard had abandoned his post as night fell, giving the elf free reign to attempt escape by virtually any means she could imagine.

At the moment, this meant briefly heating her short weapon with a torch (the leg from the table served well), and sawing at the thin bars at the windows as fast as she could until the dagger cooled – then the process began again. Over and over she heated and cut, heated and cut. Hours passed. Hunger continued to grip her, and she knew that the dawn was fast approaching.

At last, the third of four bars broke away with a ping. Tamuril could have laughed with relief as she stretched her aching arms. A grey sliver showed on the horizon as she slipped through the window like a shadow. She hesitated, crouching on the ground for a quick moment. A glance revealed that she was on the only one around. Pulling her green cloak around her, the elleth moved with sure, silent strides through the damp streets, making for the inn where she had stabled her horse.

Tamuril tensed suddenly. Sensing a presence behind her, she whirled, eyes hard and small dagger glinting in the torch light. She hardly had the time to leap into a roll that left her shoulders shrieking in protest before a blade sliced the air above her. Quickly, she recovered her feet and turned to face the man, but she paused. _I don't have time for this._

"Ranger-friend!" the man spat at her through gritted teeth. "I've lost a son because of people like you. This will be the last time you ever hurt one of us!" Eyes wild, he spun his sword and struck at her hard. Metal clanged loudly on metal when Tamuril blocked with ease, but her smaller weapon could not compete with his broadsword. She held her ground for only a brief second before her strength was drained and the blade spun away into the gloom.

"I don't have time for this!" This time the elleth ground the words out aloud. Desperation weighted her limbs as she found herself facing a man who fully intended to kill her then and there. A dangerous game of avoidance ensued. He swung hard and fast – no one could deny his prowess with a sword – while she dodged time and time again, tiring quickly and only narrowly escaping injury.

With a yell the man swung his blade down with all his might, but the elf shot her leg out, catching him in the stomach and making him stagger backwards. Jumping high, Tamuril snatched a torch from a nearby stand. It lit her face up in an orange glow as she held it in front of her, a last line of defense against the advancing swordsman. His blade shimmered a violent red as it raised high for another strike.

Stepping suddenly forward, Tamuril shoved the torch in the man's face, dancing lightly backwards as he recoiled from the scorching flame with a scream that split the air. Shamelessly, the elleth whirled and ran, the torchlight fading behind her. Her boots pounded on the slick cobblestone. She hissed in pain when her feet nearly slid from under her and she collided heavily with the brick wall of house, but she quickly recovered and continued running, lost in the winding streets beyond hope of finding familiar territory. And of course, Caffery didn't believe in road signs, she groaned ruefully.

The tip of the sun peeked over the horizon. It stained the sky pink and orange, thin clouds curling around it like a veil as Tamuril swung around yet another sharp corner. She nearly choked, doing an abrupt turnaround and ducking back out of sight with her mind still trying to take in what her eyes insisted was there. _It can't be,_ reason said. Slowly, her back pressed against the stone wall, she looked around the corner.

This was an army. Rows upon rows of dark grey tents covered the entirety of what was once a grassy clearing. Bred to face any danger the Wild could offer, horses stamped restlessly in the snow, their breath steaming from wide nostrils. The harsh stench of hot metal and fire filled her nose. Having seen the hatred of the Rangers displayed by everyone in Caffery, it was not hard to guess who was the target of such an army.

With her every nerve on edge, it was all the elleth could do to refrain from emitting a sharp gasp when a tall, sallow-faced Easterling stepped suddenly from one of the closer tents. It was such a foreign image – to see one who was accustomed to roaming the open steppes of Rhûn under a hot, southern sun here, amongst the white snows and close forests of the North. Home for him was far away.

Tamuril took one, small step backwards, shock rippling through her mind. She had seen war before. Long had she traveled Middle Earth, even before she had joined with those at the Camp. Death and battle were hauntingly familiar concepts. What so thoroughly surprised and terrified her was that these men had built a working army practically right under her nose – and that of the Rangers. And this would be no petty fight, she thought grimly. No small uprising that the Dúnedain would easily squash and set to rights within an hour.

Because Caffery had refused protection of the Rangers long ago, they were all well-armed and well-versed in war, she knew. They did not refuse aid out of hatred, rather out of pride and a strong sense of independence. Before reading or writing, all children were instructed in knife work and slinging. They did not fear death, as it was common among them, but celebrated it as a high honor.

 _The Rangers must be warned_. Sudden determination gripped her, and the elf turned quickly, cloak billowing behind her, to retrace her steps and find another road out of this town. This war was unfair – and hopelessly one-sided if the Rangers had no time to prepare. But when she reached the end of the street she ran straight into the armored bulk of a man as he stepped around the corner. The elf leaped backwards with all the grace that blessed her people, watching with growing frustration and anger in her eyes as Kantor and at least a half-score of guards came to stand in front of her.

Tamuril went for her sword only to be reminded that it had been taken. _This is ridiculous_ , she all but growled. Clanking footsteps sounded behind her, heralding the arrival of another group. Her eyes were wild and furious as she backed away. Bending swiftly, she reached for a rusted steel butcher's knife that was lodged deep in a heap of trash.

Kantor laughed, a sound that made her blood boil. "I knew you were clever, Eleniell, but this is amazing even for you! Don't worry – your next cell will not be near as easy to leave."

"I don't intend to stay as your guest another day."

"Intentions are important, naturally. However, sometimes they simply aren't enough." The man smirked and raised his arm high.

The elleth disappeared as the men of Caffery closed in on both sides.


	3. Travel Companion

_Chapter 3: Travel Companion_

Eerie silence thundered in her ears as worn leather shoes thudded on the ground. The morning had well passed at this time, yet the bitter December cold cut into her skin. Thick trees crowded around, and though their branches were open and bare, a pale sun struggled to spill out light onto the earth through a curtain of clouds. Crystal-like snow clung to everything. Under other circumstances, it would have been a sight that stole one's breath away, but now it was simply a hinderance; covering dips in the ground and fallen debris in a deceptively peaceful flood of white. In this land it was especially a danger, for a stumble into one of these hidden traps would be at best terribly painful and at worst deadly.

As she ran, Tamuril held her left arm tightly to her chest, the once-white sleeve slick and darkened with blood. She breathed through teeth gritted from the cold, and wished when she had ridden from the Camp she would have had the foresight to bring warm furs; a small blessing was that the threat of another snowfall had passed for now. The dampness in the air did not help matters, nor did the wetness of melting snow that crept up her leggings. Each time she inhaled, her throat felt scraped raw by the freezing air.

After a long while the elf came to a stop. Pressing her hand to the bark of a large tree, she listened with a bowed head for sounds of her pursuers. She did not hear them, and the ancient pine gave her no warning of anyone approaching. The doves and squirrels, disturbed by her own escape through the forest, had resumed their cooing and chattering behind her. Other than that, silence was all that met her. This was a comfort. She pressed forward, at a walk this time, pulling her cloak tight around her with her right hand.

Looking down at her bloodied arm, Tamuril noted with concern that while the wound had slowed its bleeding, it was quite deep and jagged. She would have to take care of that soon. But she knew that she would gladly have taken the cut agin, and others like it, if the end result was an escape – and indeed it was. The chain, though, snaking down from a grimy iron band that chafed her wrist, she could have done without.

Amidst the clanging metal, the stench of blood and the general chaos that accompanied the battle for her freedom, one, evil smelling man had reached out and deftly clamped the heavy restraint on her arm. In the end, the elf remembered, she had pulled the chain from his hand and cracked him upon the head with it, so one could argue it had been a good thing. But when it had continually caught on rocks and branches, and even tripped her as she tried to flee, she had severed it between two large boulders as close to the iron ring as possible. When she reached the Ranger village, she would have to have the band removed quickly, as it pressed painfully on the lower part of her wound.

Tamuril blew out a loud breath as the mere thought of the Rangers brought all the uncertainties and doubts rushing back to her attention. Unfortunately, she was trekking rather aimlessly through the snow; while she had long known of the existence of this Ranger base of sorts, she knew not where it was, only that it was nestled secretly just north of Fornost. She prayed fervently that she would find it, or would come across others who could guide her there before she ended up wandering the winter away through the bitter wilds. As it was, she would already have to spend the night here. Wearily cresting yet another slippery rise, she thought wistfully of her home.

Young Greda and her self-appointed team of cooks would already be harassing the hunters over food for the evening meal. Doubtless the meal would be warm, sugary, heavily spiced, and far too large – typical trademarks of all Greda's creations. Bundled in layers of soft furs, elflings would be enraging their elders with strategically timed flurries of snowballs, snickering and shrieking as Luke inevitably rallied the other healers into retaliation. What the healers should be doing was having their afternoon gathering, when they would argue/discuss treatments and generally enjoy being in the company of those who understood the frustrations and joys of their job. Everyone at the Camp was tightly knit as it was, but there were only four healers, and while they worked together every day, often they were scattered about, treating the various cuts and scrapes that come with living. Galedh would have already lit a bonfire, and Forlong should at this time have begun a lively tune with his flute, as he often did on winter days.

Forlong.

 _Oh no._

With a jarring rush Tamuril realized what had been nagging at the back of her mind for the past several hours. How could she have forgotten? It had been two days since she had left; Forlong had been on the edge of death then. And now? Releasing a cry of frustration, the elleth slammed her fist against a tree. She stood, ankle deep in freezing snow, with indecision weighing down every limb.

The men of Caffery had taken the seregon she had been given, along with her sword and horse. Forlong could yet be alive. Should she turn back now, she was reasonably sure she could dodge her pursuers, and with them away from the town she could recover the precious herb and other belongings. Yet she also bore the responsibility to warn the Dúnedain of the pending attack. Caffery was war-ready, and they were not. They would die. Forlong would die if they did not.

Suddenly, Tamuril hated being Captain. She hated the duties and responsibilities that smothered her and she wished she did not wear the burdens of all her people. Already she had been away from them for too long, and in her heart she warred with the knowledge that those under her care came first, and with the knowledge that the slaughter of the Rangers was imminent.

 _How am I to do this?_ she moaned inwardly. _It's not my place to decide who lives or dies!_ Throwing back her head to stare at the sky, the elf stared up into the gloom, as if hoping to find advice graven into the clouds.

After a moment, blue eyes brightened as the solution came to her. Her duty to her people, to Forlong, would come first. As she turned quickly to retrace her steps, dark braid whipping behind her, she found hope in the secrecy and cunning of the Dúnedain. For it was nigh impossible that the men of Caffery would know the location of the village.

 _It should surely take weeks for any army to discover it. I'll yet have time to warn them._

And so Tamuril reversed her course, turning northward and a touch east to arc around those who followed her. A new urgency swelled within her. Despite the pain in her arm from the rough travel, she forced her feet onwards over jagged stones, awkward bumps and slick rises. It was late in the afternoon, and the hills she walked were heavily striped with the grey shadows of the trees.

Dusk crept quickly upon the forest. With it came exhaustion and hunger for the lone elf, and just as she began to consider where would be an appropriate place to roll up in her cloak and wait out the dark, the guttural snarl of an orc reached her ears. The sound struck her as harshly out of place, yet what puzzled her more was the young, clear voice that rang out in laughter not a moment later. Weaving quickly through the trees, Tamuril ran towards the commotion.

Unexpectedly, she stumbled out of the rugged hills and cliffs into a flat stretch of ground, and realized she was on the far east side of the North Downs. _I've come farther than I thought._ She found her attention swiftly recaptured by the sight before her. Growling and barking in their choppy language, the three orcs who crouched around a nearby tree seemed not to notice her – which came as a relief, as Tamuril realized all she had to help her was the rusted knife from Caffery, and her sword arm was again weeping blood. Peering closely, she strained to make out what the beasts were so intent on. In that moment, she again heard a young voice that shouted aloud

"Look out look out, stupid beasts! I'm a great warrior, y'know. You can't touch me!" To accent these words, the ringing Crack! of stone on metal armor echoed loudly around them.

In some disbelief, Tamuril lifted her eyes to see a human boy perched precariously on a high tree branch. He could have no more than ten years! His hair was such a pale blond that it looked white. He was clad in white wool and a fur-lined jacked that was too big for his thin frame; a fine sling hung from his hand. It was clear from the stones littering the snow that he had been badgering the orcs with missiles for quite some time. They were infuriated at the boy's taunts, but had given up trying to reach him with weapons, grumbling and snapping at each other as they prepared kindling for a fire at the base of the tree. One lifted his head and roared an obscenity at the boy as he rubbed at a purple bruise on the top of his head. The child, however, was utterly unterrified. He swung his legs cheerfully and readied another shot in his sling.

Hesitating briefly, the elleth drew back behind a thick tree. Slowly, she wrapped her fingers around a small branch and broke it suddenly with a Snap! The orcs fell quiet. She reached out and snapped another twig. For a moment, all she could hear was her own breathing. Then came the sound of loud quarreling, ended quickly by a pained yelp as one orc's more senior companions forcefully persuaded him to investigate the noise. Tamuril was relieved that they had not all approached at once. She had relied on the hope that they would only think one of them was necessary to scout. Risks like this one could easily backfire and spell the end of a fight before it began. Tamuril shifted her knife in her left hand, listening to the creature shuffle nearer and nearer. This would only work once, she knew.

She allowed the orc to come alongside, still out of sight. Then she pivoted to the right to stand in front of him. With all the force of her shoulder and body behind it, the heel of her right hand smashed into his nose, eliciting a wet crunch. Tamuril winced as his gurgling screech pierced the air. She switched the knife from her left hand to the right and forced the dull blade into the space between between his breastplate and helmet. The orc toppled to the ground.

Tamuril dropped to her knees beside him. She cursed under her breath when she fumbled with the bulky form in an attempt to draw his sword. Heavy footsteps thundered towards her. She yanked hard and the sword slid from its sheath accompanied by a smell that reminded the elf of a gutted corpse left out in the middle of summer's heat. The sword was black with dried blood and had clearly not been cleaned in a long time. Unfortunately, the owner hadn't bothered to sharpen it either.

"How do you fight with this thing?" Tamuril muttered, nearly retching from the stench. She hastily cast it aside. She couldn't well fight if she couldn't stand her own weapon. Turning with a simple, rusted knife still clutched in her hand, she recoiled instantly away from an equally ugly blade that sliced the air beside her head. The elf reversed the motion in a split second, stepping sideways to let the orc stumble past, then bounding forward with an aggressive thrust at the second orc. As she hoped, the lunge caught him off his guard and he struck out wildly. Tamuril ducked under the stroke and stabbed low at the creature's knees. The blade slid between the gaps in his armor plates and laid open a damaging wound, but she had overestimated the ability of her weapon. Instead of the crippling blow she had wanted, the orc was only pained and enraged.

Realizing that her initial advantage had faded away, Tamuril suddenly found herself in a much more perilous position than she was comfortable with. Had she the full use of both arms she knew they would be on more equal ground, but her left arm was now bereft of all feeling, and she was forced to parry with her knife in her right – the weaker and non-dominant – hand.

The first orc rushed her with his sword held high over his head. His vicious snarl changed abruptly to a grunt of surprise as Tamuril swayed to the side and his sword slammed into the tree behind her. Snow showered down upon them – the sword had lodged deeply into the bark. The second beast came on slowly, seeming to sense that the elf was on the defensive now. His strokes were short, brutal and lacking in finesse but every one put another notch in Tamuril's knife.

Suddenly the two blades locked. It happened in a only moment, perhaps less. Tamuril felt her arm tremble under the power behind the blow, and then, the ringing Snap! of her blade bounced off the watching trees. Suddenly meeting no resistance, the orc surged forward and laid open the side of Tamuril's face to the bone with a sloppy thrust. The elf spun on her heel and shoved off, digging her shoulders into her opponent's chest and torso and sending them both reeling backwards. She had a flash of inspiration and suddenly ground the edge of her boot into the wound on his knee. He howled. Oh how he howled. The beast spun away from her and doubled over in agony, meaty hands clawing at the air as he sought with useless movements to ease the searing, shooting pain in his leg. And then abruptly his pain was ended forever when Tamuril jammed the jagged stub of her knife into the back of his neck.

She whirled around to meet the final orc. To her surprise, he stood stock still, swaying slightly as if struck with a sudden sickness. A drop of blood dripped from his lips. Then he toppled face down into the snow, unconscious, to reveal the smooth stone buried in the back of his head.

"Yes!"

The elf captain glanced up quickly to see a small boy swarm down from his tree and trot over to her; only, his legs were too short and the snow too deep, so his run morphed into huge, stumbling leaps – rather like a puppy.

"Did you see my lucky shot? I had my eyes closed the whole time! You have red on your face. Who are you? I'm Collier. I captured these orcs y'know! Why are you here? Are you an elf? Elder Trey says elves can appear from the air! Do you have a sword? Where is it? Don't you have it? Are you my guardian elf?" A pause, an audible gasp of breath, and he plowed on,

"Elder Trey says all children have an elf to keep them from bein' eatin' by dragons! Have you seen a dragon? Have you killed one? How old are you? Older than me? Are you a slave?" Silence fell. The boy blinked up at her, eyes huge, innocent, moist . . . and demanding, yes, very demanding.

Tamuril nearly choked at hearing his last question. She smiled uncertainly at the child. "Ah, Collier, I . . . Ah . . . That's all very interesting, but I'm somehow convinced that the better question is, where are your parents? Are they around here?"

"No. Do you want me to hit the orcs again? I have more rocks! I can-"

"Collier!" Tamuril almost regretted the harshness of her shout when the boy seemed to shrink down and curl up into himself. She knelt in front of him and put her hands on his shoulders. "Collier, you must focus on me. What brought you out here? You need to get home, darkness is coming. If you would tell me where your family is I can help you."

His sweet, precious little face could have melted a solid stone wall with his combination of a pout and a furious, nine-year old frown. He fiddled with the fur of his coat for a few moments. "Don't want to go home," he mumbled. But his expression changed before Tamuril could blink, into a new expression of unending excitement. "I have a house now! Over there," he waved vaguely to his left, "it has blankets and food and animals and sticks and nails! I . . . I s'ppose I you can stay there with me..

He added this last part reluctantly, with a rather heartbroken look in his eyes. The elf captain studied the snow intently and tried her hardest not to burst into laughter. "That would be wonderful, Collier. Will you lead me there?" she asked with a smile. There was time enough later to find out where he had come from.

His initial sadness at the thought of having to share his hideout evaporated into the wind. With a happy nod of his head, Collier bounded off into the trees. Tamuril was caught by surprise for a moment, then hurried after him. When she caught up to the boy and walked alongside him, it only took a second for him to start talking again.

"It's so dark! Will we be eaten by animals? I hope I get eaten first. I wonder what it feels like? Do you know what it feels like? Why are you laughing? What's your name? Is it a good name? Is it -"

"It's Tamuril," the elf cut it, almost desperate to stop his flow of questions. But her answer only opened a whole new realm of possibilities for Collier.

"Wow! I like your name! I like mine better. Yours is too long. Can I call you Ril? Maybe Tal? What are your momma and papa's names? Are those too long too? You still have red on your face. Do you need a bath? I hate baths. Elder Trey says baths scrub away the soul."

This random chatter continued unceasingly as the odd pair made their way through the forests of the North.


End file.
